Source of Comfort
by Some-H
Summary: Nico di Angelo was scared of the dark. It is a fact, his personality, his flaw. The secret fright that he kept to himself and only to himself. That night, he is going to fix it. Oneshot, one of those sibling fics


Nico di Angelo was scared of the dark.

It is a fact, his personality, his flaw. The secret fright that he kept to himself and only to himself. The thought of 'lights out' sent shivers up and down his spine. It was quite ironic, because the ten-year-old gained a... _morbid_ persona. He had the sudden obsession with horror stories, Greek myths that included the Underworld, tombstones, and even the slightest references to ghosts. His sister blamed it entirely on Westover Hall and their student body.

_'Their obsession... it's contagious. Plus, its unhealthy.' _

As the other boys in his dorm slept and snored, Nico rubbed his earlobe (a strange family habit. His sister did the exact same thing, and he had no doubt that their deceased parents did too.) and stared at the ceiling. That's when the-absolute-_amazing_-idea-that-could-never-fail slipped into his mind. He shot straight up, a shadow casting on one side of his face-- light coming from his moon shaped night light (hid nicely behind his pillow, invisible to the other unobservant boys. It was a gift. The powerful light did not effect him in the least.)

_'I need it... I can't be alone in the dark.'_

He must demolish this fear! That's it. If he was going to be a hero (not exactly a knight, but more like a Greek soldier. His sister blamed their former history teacher for lending Nico his old myth textbooks. The stories became his life.) he must discard these little frights. What kind of hero is scared of something? No, Nico would stand up bravely against the enemy (the image of the enemy never fully developed. Currently, it is a giant blob.), holding out his bronze sword with pride. (His sword is forged by a pretty tree nymph. He didn't know why, but the idea appealed to him.)

_'Kids, they have quite the imagination.'_

He rubbed his ears again, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. His feet hung off the top bunk, dangling above his roommate's face. The boy, a bit older looking than Nico, mumbled quietly and shuffled around in his bed, decorated with _Archie _comics. Nico held his breath, slipping off the thin mattress. He slammed against the floor, rolling onto his shoulder. The boys, heavy sleepers unlike the girls, continued on with their rest. Nico crawled, replaying the 'Mission Impossible' tune in his head. He couldn't resist doing a couple of rolls and cartwheels. (After all, what do you expect from a ten-year-old?) Once outside, he congratulated himself mentally. He imagined cheers from a crowd of his fans, praising his brilliant plan.

_'Thank you, thank you! But please, I'm flattered. I would like to thank my sister-- though she is totally unsupported...'_

The dimly lit halls of Westover had armor displayed. Each time he would pass them, Nico would always take the time to admire the work. But this time, the student was on a mission. He tip toed passed classrooms, glancing at the titles. The words seemed to slip off the glass of the door and circle his feet. Nico let himself grin, another fantasy of these letters being his slaves. The fantasy was interrupted by whispering. Nico froze, and then hid underneath the nearest water fountain. It was a lame disguise.

_'Oh hi. Just here fixin' another broken fountain. You need water? There's one in the second floor.'_

He watched, piercing black eyes watching two figures walking down the halls. He curled up, wearing his stripped blue pajamas, the cold struck him through the thin material. They were whispering to each other. One was urgent. One was carefree. Some giggles escaped, and they walked quickly passed him. One figure's skirt brushed his cheek, and he smelt strong woman's perfume. Nico made a face. (He did not like perfume, for his allergies acted up.)

The figures disappeared, and Nico crawled out. He stretched his arms, letting out a yawn. His body begged for sleep, for him to curl up somewhere comfy and lay his head for a while... But the determine part of him growled and marched on. (Marching was essential in Westover Hall. Students were taught to march, as quoted by the gym instructor, 'like real soldiers.') After a couple of twists and turns, Nico managed to reach his destination. He read, with trouble due to his dyslexia, _Broom Closet._

_'If I have to see some stupid teenagers mak--'_

It was empty, just like he hoped. Nico stepped in and sat on the hard floor. The sour stench of mops and dirty water nearly killed his sense to breath. He gagged a couple of time, thinking each time he was seriously going to see his dinner again. (Nasty dry piece of chicken and hard bread, which might even look better in throw-up form.) But soon enough, the smell no shock. Nico took a deep breath, and reached out for the door. He locked it. The click was quite, it was impossible for any passers to hear it, but seemed to echo viciously in his mind.

_'And then the barriers trapped the hero.'_

Darkness overpowers light, little by little. Finally, the light provided by the small crack in the door was gone. The temperature in the small closest seemed to drop. And the silence-- _oh, _the silence was the worst part. Nico listened, waiting to hear the familiar of his fellow students snoring, mumbling in their sleep, and the shuffling in their beds. He waited for the sound of crickets chirping in the night, the often sound of a car racing down the nearby highway, or a teacher walking down the halls and checking on dorms. But in this closest? Nothing. Because of this, the slightest sound would make him freeze, eye wide, and lips in a thin line.

But see? This was his plan. Nico was determine that locking himself in the closest would help him overcome the fear. To, you know, get use to the darkness, blackness, and any other kind of creepy 'ness'. Soon, he would not be scared of anything-- a real hero.

_'He waited for a sound, a sign. But nothing.'_

The scary story, told in whispers amongst children, played in his head. It was about the janitor who got tired of cleaning up after children and decided to get rid of the problem one by one. Each child would turn up in the halls, their blood splashed all over, arms and legs almost hacked off, their eyes still wide open that you could see the fear in the dead body. The janitor was finally caught, and was punished severely. Death became his penalty, and his ghostly voice still mourns in the school halls.

_'That has to be the stupidest story I ever heard.'_

His sister. Why did she have to be so brave? Shouldn't he be the brave one-- being the man of the non-existent di Angelo family? It made no sense that he had these little fears, where his sister also waved these things off.

He closed his eyes, rocking back and forth. The small sounds: a broom dropped, a door slammed, a footstep, and all kinds of things that should be scaring him but did. He opened his eyes again, but saw only darkness. He felt like being in a dark cave, with a monster creeping close to him. Nico bit hard on his bottom lip, and tears collected in his chocolate colored eyes.

_'Nico, what are you doing here?"_

Light poured into the room, and it didn't seem so horrifying. It seemed kind of pathetic, nothing like the terror room he had imagined last night. Mops were thrown carelessly in the corners and old, abandoned school papers were piled up on the creaking shelves (the same shelves making those terrifying noises. Those noises that sounded like skeletons dancing.) Nico blinked a couple of time, his vision focused on a girl stood over him. Her long, silky black hair fell over her bleach-white shirt and hung over her usual warm black eyes, but now seemed cold, with a scary fiery look. The blur wiped out of his eyes, able to see the true anger in his sister's eyes. A deep frown was on her pale lips, not yet glimmered with her lip gloss. A line formed on her forehead, dark eyebrows crossed. He thought he could tell the concern sparks in her eyes from the angry ones. Nico did not like angry Bianca. Angry Bianca was scary, hated everyone, and always in a bad mood.

She was about to shout, he could tell. Her lips were parting a bit, and she took a breath. Nico shrunk further, snuggling into the cloth of one of the worn-out mops. It was still wet, soaking his night shirt. Goosebumps appeared, and his legs shivered. He looked so sad, useless, and innocent that Bianca almost laughed. Nico _never _looked like that. He always had a spark in his eyes, as if he was always going to make some trouble, and always had a devilish grin. But now, he sat there like a rag doll, his black hair mopped over his sad eyes, and a simply adorable pout on his face.

_'I'm no hero, not even make-believe.'_

Bianca sighed and sat next to him. She brushed the strands over his forehead with a gentle hand, and began ruffling his hair. (Nico hates the mushy feeling and being treated like a baby, but he wanted comfort more than anything at that moment) She pressed his head on her shoulder, running her fingers through his tangled hair. The silky strands clung to her fingertips, and flopped over his eyes. She rubbed his neck, and wiped some leaked tears from his cheeks. He felt warmth all over, and smiled sweetly at his sister.

_'God, he loved her.'_

She smirked at his rare innocent child smile, and continued rubbing his back. He closed his eye for a while. She asked, in a quite and low voice:

"Nico, what are you doing here in 3 in the morning?"

"The question is, what are _you _doing here in 3 in the morning?"

"Don't avoid the question." She snapped, feeling rather red herself. She was just carrying the duty of checking up on him. Was that such a crime? (Actually, it was. Girls were not allowed in boy dorms, no matter if there was a sibling.)

"I was..." He faltered, feeling the warmth on his cheeks. His sister was staring at him, and he had one of those rare moments where he was actually thankful for his caring sister. She would never abandon him. "I was getting over... uh... my fear of...mops! Yes, mops."

"Sure you are." She said, rolling her eyes.

"Dark," he squeaked. "I am scared of the dark!"

"Ah, he speaks some sense." Bianca smiled, rocking on the balls of her feet.

"I just, don't want to be scared of something so stupid."

Little kids confuse Bianca. They were cute, angelic, chubby red cheek free from any sign of growing old (such as zits and pimples). Free from the burden of responsibility, work, and caring for a sibling. And even with all the free time, they were so dramatic-- as if common sense did not exist at the age of ten. Little kids are always throwing an earth-shaking, embarrassing tantrum, having showers and pools of tears flowing down their cheeks, and doing ridiculous things like locking themselves in storage room to get over a fear.

"God, Nico," She shook her head. "Being scared of the dark, it's normal for a kid your age. When you will get older, things would be less scary." She pulled him closer, rubbing his shoulder. Nico sniffed, mumbling something about her smothering. She mentally rolled her eyes, annoyed that he hated her hugs. She was pretty damn sure that she loved being hugged by her annoying, yet lovable brother. Her only family member always warmed her up-- though in public she would easily push him away. "But this...this won't help. It might even torment you. You... don't need to be so extreme-- oh, for God's sake!"

She yelped, flinching back when he rubbed his cheek against her shoulder. Did he suddenly turn into a kitten? It was sickeningly adorable and he knew that she would get him anything he wanted by being 'lwittle innocent' Nico.

"Let's go." she said, with a sigh. "Ice cream's on me."

"Who else is going to pay?" scowled Nico, abandoning his act and grabbed her hands to pull her up. He followed her, like a worshiping shadow, out of the darkness.

* * *

The council nodded, deciding on the newly found son of Hades' job. The king of the dead turned, his ghostly eyes setting upon the small ten-year-old boy. The same one trapped in the high walls of Westover, but no one would ever guess. This boy was darker, scarier. Even the slightest angry look would make a grown adult shiver and walk away slowly. But something else was under the reckless attitude... was that sadness?

_'The traitor handed a little figure, and all the hero could do was stare and feel lost.'_

Nico di Angelo gripped the ends of his jacket, ignoring the nervous feeling in his stomach, given by the passed away daughters of Hades. Their spirits dressed him in all black, making him blend in with the marble walls of his father's palace. He thought, a bit smug at that moment, that he looked pretty good.

"Nico," Hades said, not as kindly as he hoped. Nico wondered if he would ever get this god's approval-- even though the creep found him a week ago. The coldness in his father's voice hurt, but not as much as being strangled by the lovely wheat goddess. "We have decided to make use of you during your stay. I shall be assigning you to duty in Tartarus, making sure none escape."

Fear clogged his throat. Tartarus was a major deal-- it was hell for crying out loud! And also happens to be the darkest part of the Underworld. Not even a hint of light could be visible in that pitch black cave. A flashback entered his mind, and Nico cleared his throat bravely. But in a meek voice, he said:

"Uh, Father, I am scared of the dark."

Yes, the roaring laughter from the dead council and evil look of realization from the goddess of spring time's expression pained him terribly, but the flicker of embarrassment in his father's eyes hurt the most.

And, quite surprisingly, Nico soon stopped caring.

He stood in front of the roaring council made up of legendary spirits, a frown forced on his face. It was the first time he had ever heard anything joyful down in the dark world.

* * *

_D'awwww... _

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